


Christmas Spirit

by walkandtalk



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, K/S Advent Calendar, M/M, Star Trek: Into Darkness, ksadvent 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:38:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkandtalk/pseuds/walkandtalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk was dead: to begin with.  Except, perhaps, he wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Spirit

**Stave 1: Kirk’s Ghost**

 

Jim Kirk was dead: to begin with.  There was no doubt whatsoever about that. Spock himself had recorded the event into the ship’s log and reported the events leading up to Jim Kirk’s demise in an exhaustively detailed report.  Spock had signed it, and that was enough for Starfleet to retire James Tiberius Kirk’s record from the personnel database. He was indisputably dead by any measure known to the Federation.

Commander Spock came upon this knowledge as both the commanding officer onboard the Enterprise, thus given access to all relevant medical files, and as a witness.  Spock and Kirk were officers together for two years, and Kirk was his only confidant, his only supervising officer, and as Spock would now reflect, Kirk was his only friend. Perhaps not only, but in both quantity, measured by frequency and duration, and quality of those moments, Kirk had earned a significant part of Spock’s admiration and sentiment. Jim Kirk was likely Spock’s _best_ friend. So it would stand to reason that a Starfleet officer and friend of Kirk would know, in no uncertain terms, that the captain was dead.

This was not the thought primarily on Commander Spock’s mind as he made his way through the chilly Toronto streets into the temporary headquarters for Starfleet.  He was thinking about the upcoming department head meeting and how best to restructure the crew in the astrometrics lab.  He was analyzing how best broach the topic with the engineering department, who would most be impacted, to yield the most satisfactory response.  Objectively, Spock understood he had poor diplomatic talents, something he had never learned from his ambassador father. Convincing Mr. Scott to give up three of his crew to the astrometrics lab was a task that Jim would have excelled in.

However, Jim was dead.

“Merry Christmas, Spock!” Dr. McCoy greeted him, already taking his seat at the table, a glass of something already in front of him. “You look quite festive today.”

Spock glanced down at the green scarf that was draped around his neck.  “I am merely wearing this in deference to the weather, and not in any attempt to acknowledge an ancient Terran holiday.”

“I think what he means is ‘bah, humbug,’” Mr. Scott suggested.

Dr. McCoy snorted.  “I would have thought you, of all people, would notice it was Christmas Eve and give the Terrans a day off.”

Spock ignored the jibe and took his seat at the head of the conference table.  “Me, of all people?”

“I was under the impression you had some elf blood running in your veins.”

The faces of the other department heads became distinctly embarrassed, all except Dr. McCoy, who smiled expectantly.

“As the ship’s chief medical officer, I assume you would know for sure,” Spock replied mildly, making Dr. McCoy’s smile widen. “It is 2259.358. Let the record show that while it is December the twenty-fourth according to the Terran Gregorian calendar, it is a day like any other day, and it would be illogical to not to treat it as such.”

There were mild grumbled around the table, but Spock was pleased to see that with one quelling look, it immediately ceased and they were able to start the agenda without further incident.

\---

When the department meeting ended—with Mr. Scott refusing to let even one member of his department go without a complete redesign of the manifold systems, but it was something that Spock was willing to negotiate at another meeting—he was heading out the door when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He turned, surprised to find Dr. McCoy was the owner of said hand.

“Spock, do you have a minute?”

He nodded, still vaguely surprised by the doctor’s familiarity with his person.  Being a doctor very well acquainted with Vulcan culture and his own particularities, he knew how little Spock wanted to be touched.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“I have seven reports that need to be written and submitted with in the week,” Spock started.  “I will also be looking into Mr. Scott’s manifold design request, and the cargo bay inspection schedule should be finalized before—”

“Spock, it’s Christmas!” Dr. McCoy protested.

“As I do not observe the holiday, it is simply another day to be spent in productive engagement.  Christmas is not an essential or mandatory vacation, and to take any time from one’s duties in a time when Starfleet is in such desperate need would be illogical, if not harmful.”

“Harmful?  To take a break from the pace you’ve been setting yourself might do you some good,” the doctor observed.  “I’ve always thought of Christmas time as a good time, a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time.  After a year like this, I think we all need a little of that.  While it’s not productive, I think it does it all some good, and I think you should take some time away from all this,” he gestured to the PADD still clutched in Spock’s hand, “and get into the spirit of the season.”

“Illogical.”

“Bah, humbug, you mean,” Dr. McCoy countered. “Join us for Christmas dinner.” Spock opened his mouth, about to protest, when the doctor pressed on.  “It’s just me and Scotty, maybe Chekov.  I can’t make it home this Christmas and… well, the table will feel a little emptier this year.”

 _Because Jim was dead,_ was left unsaid.

“I thank you for the invitation, Doctor, but I must decline. Tomorrow would be best spent as any other day, and I would encourage you to do the same.  I will see you at 0800 in two days, then.”

“Oh eight hundred,” the other man echoed, disappointment clear in his voice.

Dr. McCoy left the room, but Spock noticed in the corner of his eye a file left on the conference room table, a PADD and several manila folders marked **LUCY**. It was both unusual in that it was paper and that the fastidious doctor had left them for anyone to view. Spock gathered the materials, intending to return them to the medical officer at his first convenience.

He walked back to his office, intent on completing some work, but found that all support staff had all cleared out for the night, evidently to begin the holiday festivities.  As his office was no longer the most productive environment to finish his evening duties, he grabbed his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck and headed back out into the cold Toronto air.

It had begun snowing, a light snow that was likely to accumulate into nothing more than slush and melt away by morning. The storefronts were lit in colorful displays with pine trees and lights.  He passed several groups of carolers, singing traditional songs of Yuletide cheer, one a particularly haunting tune.

 _“_ O star of wonder, star of night,  

Star with royal beauty bright,  

Westward leading, still proceeding,  

Guide us to thy perfect Light.”

 _We Three Kings_ , Spock remembered, the tune often played from a holodisk his mother brought out yearly, her sentimental celebrations of Terran tradition were dim memories now, and Spock did not wish to revisit them.

 “…Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying

Sealed in a stone cold tomb.

Star of wonder, star of night

Star with royal beauty bright…”

The words called to mind a great many memories, and none that he wished to remember.  _Blonde hair, eerily lit by the blue lights of the cryotube, eyes closed as if only sleeping, sealed in his own stone cold tomb._

No, he would not spend idle time dwelling on that particular memory.

Jim Kirk was dead.

Spock continued his solo journey to the humble brownstone garden apartment, which served as his temporary quarters for the foreseeable future.  He walked the seven concrete steps down to the door and was about to enter his door code when he caught his reflection in the access panel glass.

It was, without a doubt, the face of Jim Kirk. As clear as if he had been standing on the other side of the panel, flush with life and looking at Spock entreatingly, as if requesting his help.  Spock’s reflexes only allowed for the fraction of a second to pause in shock before he leaned forward to scrutinize the glass, but the reflection had disappeared.

Given that Spock was not in any ill mental or physical health, and not prone to hallucinations, he scrutinized the panel closely, entered his apartment and headed straight to his workstation.

“Computer, display security log.”

No intruders or visitors had been logged.

“Computer, display access data.”

No indication of tampering to the access panel or errors in the building’s surveillance system.

As that theory had yielded the irregularities he had been searching for, he visually scoured the room.  His workstation was untouched, the kitchenette with its one mug, one plate, a set of cutlery, and a bowl, were exactly as he had left it after his solitary breakfast.  Even the bed, an austere pallet tucked into the corner of the room had not a single wrinkle to indicate that anything was out of place.

Perhaps there was nothing out of place.  _Perhaps I am unwell,_ he mused, and stood to put away his outerwear in the closet and resume his nightly routine.  _If I am mentally unfit, I should schedule an appointment with Dr. McCoy_. The thought was abhorrent to him, for many reasons, not the least of which was that the Human would insist on talking about what Spock was certain he saw, which would likely start a long string of unwanted probes into _what was bothering Spock_.

He opened the closet, reached for a coat hanger, and promptly dropped it.

“Spock!” A delighted form cried.

Spock immediately slammed the door upon the intruder’s face and took two steps back, a pure instinct, he was sure, to defend himself against an unknown entity.  However, it was for naught, as the figure in the closet walked _through_ the door, as if it was nothing but air, and reached a hand out toward him.

“Spock, can you see me?”

“I—“ Spock had rarely been rendered speechless, but this case was highly unusual. 

“Spock, oh my god, _please._ Please, tell me you can see me.”

It would appear that Jim Kirk was most certainly dead, except, perhaps, he was not.

\---

“Identify yourself,” Spock demanded, now over the initial shock.

“It’s me,” the figure gestured to itself, a dim, almost a faint holographic projection of Jim Kirk.  “I can’t really see in a mirror, but it’s me, Jim.  I still look like me, don’t I?”

Spock took several slow steps back to his workstation, stat down, and engaged the surveillance cameras.  The figure claiming to be the captain merely huffed and nodded, acknowledging Spock’s less than covert move.  “You look like Captain James Kirk,” Spock acknowledged, “but as he is dead, and you are not a corporeal form, it stands to reason that you are not the captain.”

“Can I sit?”

“I do not know,” Spock replied, “as I have just observed you walking through a door, I am uncertain if you have the ability.”

Jim frowned and reached his hand forward, slowly. Spock took a step back, dodging the figure’s attempt to touch him.   Jim frowned more deeply.  “Spock, it’s me.”

Spock shook his head.  “Jim Kirk is dead.”

“I know.” Jim walked to Spock’s bed and sat on the edge. The bed even sagged against his weight. “Huh, it worked. Weird,” he remarked to himself. “I guessed I was dead, I remember dying in the decontamination room.  But I’m here now.”  Jim watched him, his face slowly becoming sad.  “You don’t believe me.”

“I do not,” Spock agreed.  “By pure observation I might conclude that you are indeed some non-corporeal form of James Kirk, it is far more likely that I am suffering from some malady that is causing hallucinations.”

“I am not a hallucination.”  Jim folded his arms across his chest defiantly.  “If anything, I’m hallucinating you.”

“Explain.”

“I remember seeing you on the other side of the glass, and everything going dark.  The pain and panic fades, and then there’s only peace,” Jim was looking off beyond Spock, which was just as well, as Spock had no desire to relive the man’s last moments. “You get this clarity, like all of your regrets and questions and everything in life you didn’t really understand, you really _see_ it. It’s like an epiphany, or a paradigm shift like none you’ve ever experienced, like the universe was hugging your very being.  For one brief moment, I felt like I was one with everything.”  His face was a picture of wonder, and then it faded.  “But then it went away, and now I’m here.”

“You recollect nothing between your _cosmic hug_ and this present moment.”

Jim shrugged.  “There were voices, you know, like memories and stuff, but they were random. I heard my mom’s voice and names were repeated, like yours, or Pike’s, and this Chihuahua my mom’s boyfriend had.”

“Chihuahua?”

“Little yappy dog named Lucy,” Jim said, grimacing at the memory. “Like I said, random jabber, but I know at one point, it made complete sense.”  Jim leaned forward, his face fully serious.  “Spock, I think I was sent here on a mission.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at the apparition. “What mission would that be?”

Jim shrugged, stuffing his non-existent hands into the non-existent pants.  “Not sure. Maybe I just wanted to spend my afterlife haunting you here.”  Jim appeared to brighten a little at the thought, looking around the room. “Where is here?”

“Toronto, Earth.”

“And how long have I been gone… dead?”

“Three weeks, two days, twelve hours,” Spock recited.

“Do you have it down to the minute?” Jim wondered, his expression one of barely suppressed shock.

 _Nine minutes_ , his brain supplied, but he ignored the question and walked closer to Jim.  He was dressed not as he last saw him alive or dead, but in a pristine captain’s uniform. He looked healthy and almost solid, but there was a slight translucent quality, as if he had been beamed into his quarters, but the transporter had not quite reorganized all of the atoms. “Perhaps we should alert Dr. McCoy.”

“To observe me, or to see if you’re hallucinating?

“Both.  Either.”

“Okay,” Jim said, sighing, and stood.  Out of sheer habit, he raised a hand to Spock’s arm, and before Spock could react, the world went dark.

 

**Stave Two: Kirk of Christmas Past**

 

When Spock awoke, he experienced the unsettling feeling that he was _not_ awake. He opened his eyes to piercingly bright light and a figure hovering above him.  He blinked a few times to Jim bent over him, wide blue eyes watching him quizzically.

“Where are we?” Jim asked.  Spock immediately sat up, surprised by their surroundings and recognizing them immediately.

“This is impossible.  Did you make this occur?” Jim shook his head.  “We are in a replica of the gross motor development area of the Shi’kahr Second Level Educational and Vocational Training Facility.”

Jim looked around curiously.  “So it’s like a playground?  Shi’kahr, isn’t that where you are from, on Vulcan?  How is that even possible?”

“It is not, but it appears to be a very precise replica,” Spock noted, rubbing a hand against one side of a wall, finding it warm to the touch and the precise texture that he had remembered.  A bell sounded and the pneumatic doors opened to an orderly line of young Vulcans dressed in identical grey and blue tunics. They divided into several groups and began the exercises on the sparse equipment meant to engage the mind and body in sensory integration and motor skill development.

“Hello!” the young Jim shouted, and waved a hand in front of one girl’s face.  “They can’t see us!”

“Agreed,” Spock said, finding himself drawn to one corner of the yard, and the young Jim followed.

“Why are we here?” Jim asked, trailing behind Spock as he walked to the far corner of the fenced area, and then noticed the lone boy. “Hey, is that you?”

It was Spock, or a facsimile of Spock as a young boy, just as he remembered himself.  “I believe it is.  Most curious.” Spock looked around for any indication of holographic emitters, cameras, any detail that was false. “This recreation is remarkably detailed. Even the children are identical to the ones of my memory.”

Jim walked around the boy, who was holding a PADD and reading it with avid interest.  The Human stood behind him, reading over his shoulder.  “Oliver Twist?”

“Excuse me?” Spock prompted, but knew immediately to what Jim was referring.

“You’re reading Oliver Twist during recess?”

“Vulcans do not engage in what you refer to as recess.  This is a specially designed activity to promote positive outcomes in educational progress.”

“Then you aren’t following the rules,” Jim pointed out.

Spock frowned.  No, he wasn’t, and he didn’t quite remember why he wasn’t participating in the gross motor activities with the other children until he saw three other children approach him. Spock flinched.

_Not that day.  Any day but that day._

“What is it doing?” the tallest one asked. “This thing that sits, what is it doing?”

“Not following the standard directions.  I believe it is deficient in its mental capacity,” another replied. “Human.”

“Agreed.  You, Human,” the tallest grabbed the PADD, glanced over it, and threw it over his young self’s head.  “Are you aware of the rules as it applies to unproductive behavior?”

Spock watched his younger self’s lip tremble slightly, but remained silent.  As an adult, he could see how it infuriated the taunters.

“Immediate correction,” another hissed, and began to pull at Spock’s arm and another grabbed his other side to lead him further away from the group.  The young Spock struggled, and the group walked through Spock and young Jim.  They didn’t get but two meters away when a voice rang out across the field.

“Put him down!”

Spock closed his eyes briefly against the view he would see. _No._ _Not this._

“Put him down this instant,” a woman demanded, striding across the activity area and halting next to the invisible forms of Spock and young Jim.

The bullies immediately complied, their faces now wiped of all malice and glee and schooled back into the acceptable bland Vulcan expressions. The woman fell to her knees, wrapping her hands around the tiny shoulders.  “Spock, are you okay?  Are you hurt?”

Spock watched himself straighten, and watch as the headscarf the woman always wore in public flap in the breeze, revealing curly honey-brown hair and perfectly rounded ears.  “I am adequate, Human,” the little boy replied, and turned without another word to one of the balance beams and started the strengthening routine without another word.

Spock had no recollection of how his mother responded to the incident after that, but now, standing in the middle of the yard, he was witness to his mother’s face, crumpled with worry.  He watched wordlessly as Amanda Grayson turned and left, pulling her scarf around her head tightly.

“She loved you very much,” Jim said quietly from behind him.

“She did,” Spock said around the tightness in his throat. “Although I could be cruel to her in my effort to preserve my status among Vulcans.”

They both watched his mother stop at the edge of the yard and watch her son at work.  Spock stood directly in her line of sight, drank in her features and memorized her expression. “I’m sure she—”

Spock never heard the end of that sentence, and the world went black again.

\---

“Spock!” a voice called.  “Spock, please wake up.”

He obeyed the unfamiliar voice, looking into Jim’s blue eyes once more. He sat up, and Jim sat back, giving him a wide berth of space.

“I touched you,” Jim said, hovering well out of reach. “Both times I touched you, and then we appeared somewhere else.”

Spock glanced around, observing that they were now on a starship corridor, but as they were generally designed similarly, he could not immediately place which one by the bulkheads he could see. “That day, on Vulcan, was one of my memories that I have not shared with anyone.  Why would we be drawn to this memory?”

“So you think we are here, and I’m not just a hallucination?”

“Negative, I am running multiple hypothesizes simultaneously, as I have little evidence to discount any of them, I am, among other theories, supposing I am sharing a telepathic link with an entity that believes it is James Kirk.”

Jim huffed, annoyed.  “Whatever. And no, I have no idea why we were in your childhood memories or why we are here.  I’m not even sure where here is.”

Spock stood, Jim following suit, and the door to the mess hall opened, two cadets leaving arm in arm, leaving a large gathering. Jim walked in, leaving Spock to trail behind.

“Do you recognize this party?” Jim asked.  There was a synthesized Christmas tree and bright pink bunting with “CONGRATULATIONS THOMAS AND RIMA!” and  “WELCOME BABY LUCILLE!”

“We are on the Ebenezer.”  Spock’s mouth thinned to a narrow line, remembering the day. “Perhaps we should try the next room,” he suggested, but Jim ignored him.

“Wow, is that Captain Dokwe?”  Jim peered at his lapel.  “Lieutenant Commander, Dokwe, here I guess.  And Christine Chapel?  That’s a real blast from the past.”  Jim milled through the crowd of Starfleet crew from eight years ago, Spock silently following him, knowing he would happen upon the very scene he probably did not want to relive for the rest of his life, and certainly not with James Kirk.

Jim stopped in his tracks, Spock almost running into him, or through him, as the case would be.  “Wow,” Jim whispered reverently.  “Your _hair_.”  He spun around, almost accusatory.  “You grew out your hair?”

Spock internally groaned.  “Once.  It was a short lived period of my life.”

“But _why?_ ”

Oh, but that was certain to become evident fairly soon.

“Spock!” a cheerful voice called, and both Spocks and Jim turned to see Captain Christopher Pike walking toward the quiet corner the young man was sitting, a glass of something that looked like pink punch in his hand. The younger Spock stood at attention, with Pike waving him off casually.  “Congratulations, Lieutenant Spock.”

“Thank you, sir.  I owe it to you, sir.”

“Oh, no, it was a much deserved promotion. I don’t think the away team would have made it out alive without your quick thinking.  There are seven people that owe you their lives.” Pike took a seat opposite Spock, and gestured for him to retake his own seat.  “I’m glad to see that you’re partaking in the festivities. And I see that you’ve taken my suggestion on the hair.”

Spock fingered the fringed edges gingerly.  “You approve?”

“It looks great.  It says you’re professional, but open-minded.  Very Starfleet,” Pike enthused good-naturedly.  The tips of Spock’s ears turned green under the older man’s praise.

Spock looked around at the dancing and mingling crew, unimpressed. “You had suggested that I attend the baby shower, but I fail to see your reasoning.”

“It’s a good idea to be seen at function like this, where staff, officers, and other crew mingle.  It promotes goodwill throughout the ship, encourages effective teambuilding.” Pike took a drink from his glass.   “It’s also fun.”

Spock looked dubious.  “As you say, sir.”  That made both Captain Pike and Jim snort.

“Didn’t really know you well, did he?” Jim asked Spock, who was watching the tableau unfold with what felt like a seven-kilo rock in his stomach.

“I expect you’ll be captaining your own ship before you know it,” Pike commented.  “You’ll want to be comfortable with events like this, it can be difficult to establish that kind of rapport with your crew if you haven’t already developed a reputation for being somewhat terrifying yet equally approachable.”

“I do not find you terrifying.”

Pike chuckled.  “No, I imagine you don’t.  There’s nothing that can get under your skin.  That’s what I like about you, Spock.”

Spock watched himself preen while simultaneously watching Jim watch Spock and Pike interact.

 “Sir, I have heard that you are to take a commission on the Queensland within the month.”

Pike nodded.  “It’s just temporary, and then I’ll be dirt side on Earth for several months.”

“Will you not be returning to the Ebenezer?” Spock looked troubled.

“Oh, no, I’ve got business on Earth.”

Spock frowned.  “Sir, may I ask where your next commission will be?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I’m trying to keep my options open, waiting to see if Number One gets the deep space mission she’s had her eyes on.”

“Number One?”

“She, oh well you wouldn’t have met, she was transferred before your assignment here, wasn’t she?  We’re engaged, you see.  Starfleet always makes special dispensations for married couples, so we’re in a hurry to tie the knot while I’m on Earth.  We’ve got a better chance to be assigned to the same ship this way.”

“I see.”

Pike’s gaze suddenly sharpened.  “Spock?”

“Sir, if I may be excused…” Spock’s face tinged green, his head bent down as he fled the room.

Pike frowned, and the man abandoned the seat and wandered off in the opposite direction.  Spock would remember spending the evening alone in the science labs, undisturbed and later grateful that Pike hadn’t treated him any differently the next day.

“I didn’t realize.” Jim didn’t finish the open sentence, leaving it open for Spock to clarify.

Spock shook his head.  “I found him attractive, intelligent, and a charismatic leader. He gained my respect, and for years after that, commanded my loyalty.  He never spoke of this moment, and I was grateful to put it behind us, as the saying goes.”

“He still asked you to be his First Officer,” Jim pointed out.

Spock nodded.  “He also asked me to withdraw my complaint against a certain cadet that was caught cheating on an Academy simulation because he felt he had potential.”

“You didn’t listen to him?” Jim asked, grinning at the irony.

“His advice was not always sound.”

“The hair?”

Spock nodded solemnly, making Jim laugh, and then he sobered quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said softly.  “It must have been very difficult to loose him.”

Spock nodded in acknowledgement of the sympathy. “I found it difficult to continue with the loss of you both,” he said.

Jim deflated a little.  “I’m sorry.”  Spock was about to object, and Jim waved him away.  “It’s odd, I should be feeling sorry for myself, but I really feel more sorry for you. I’m dead, and I think I’m okay with it, but to think you and Bones and everyone isn’t okay…”

They fell silent a moment, watching the happy parents accept more congratulations.

“I still do not understand what purpose it serves to visit such a memory as this.”

“Maybe it’s to remind you of the people you care about, especially at Christmas.”  Jim sidled toward him, and Spock imagined he could feel the man’s body head. “We may be gone, but we’re still here, in your memories.  I’m here. Or I’m a very complex and elaborate hallucination.  Regardless, even if I’m not here, I care.  I always will.”

Spock nodded thoughtfully.  “Thank you, Jim.”

“No thanks are needed.  Not from you.”

This time, Spock touched Jim’s shoulder, and he was prepared for the darkness once more.

 

**Stave Three: Kirk of Christmas Present**

 

They stood together this time, in the middle of an empty living room, with a light and noises coming from the kitchen down the hall.

“This is Dr. McCoy’s temporary quarters,” Spock observed. Glancing at the chronometer, he verified his suspicion.  “It is Christmas day.”

Jim blinked, alarmed.  “But then this isn’t a memory.”

“Perhaps we were never in a memory,” Spock speculated, but as he had no further theories, he turned to follow the noises to the back of the apartment.

The smell of turkey and roasted apples wafted through the air, and as he and Jim walked to find Dr. McCoy, Mr. Scott, and Ensign Chekov sitting at a small kitchenette table, plates with only the remnants of dinner. Mr. Scott telling a particularly stimulating tale, a drink in one hand that was splashing his dining companions. Jim leaned against the counter, watching the three with quiet affection, snorting at the particularly ribald conclusion of the story.

“That’s nothing,” McCoy claimed, “there was this one time, Jim and I--”

“Oh no,” Jim objected to deaf ears, “don’t go telling them all my secrets.”  Jim turned to Spock. “Doesn’t a dead man get some dignity?”

Spock raised a single eyebrow in response.

“—And by that time, they’re half naked, trying to tie him up and drag him back to their cave, and the whole time, Jimmy’s yelling that he’s very flattered, but he’s already taken!”

Jim groaned, head in his hands and all three laughed at their mental images.  “This is terrible.”

“So then, _then_ , they stop, actually drop him, and demand that his lover report on the surface immediately.  So we beam down an away team—”

“I remember!” Chekov exclaimed.  “It vas Gordon, ze Commander, Vescott, and I, we beamed down on ze surface and before anyvun can say anyzing, zey immediately—”

“Grabbed Spock and made him propose marriage or break up with Jim,” McCoy finished, making Scott double over laughing.  “Poor bastard had no idea what was going on, and refused to ‘let the Captain go’ so they made them get into this hot tub filled with slime, as per their matrimonial tradition.”

“I remember that, the stench didn’t leave the transporter room for days,” Scott lamented.

“And they emerged married, and covered in half fermented vegetative ooze,” McCoy added.  “Thank god the pointy eared hobgoblin didn’t know why he was chosen to be marinated with Jim, he would have run for the hills.”

“Now that’s not quite fair,” Scott objected.

“I’d call him a hobgoblin even if he was standing here in this kitchen!”

Spock bristled a little, finding the reference both objectionable and predictable.

“I think the Captain would have…” Scott trailed off, the table suddenly becoming sober.

“Yes, he would have.”

Chekov looked around the table in confusion.

Jim froze; his face turned away Spock, and his hands gripping the edge of the counter as if it was the only thing holding him to the ground.

“Surely ye noticed,” Scott said to the puzzled young man. “The Captain was a bit partial to Spock… all those away missions, the special late night ‘chess games,’ dinners in their quarters.”

“Jim never said or did anything, of course,” McCoy added. “He wanted to keep it professional, I think.”

“Never?” Scott questioned doubtfully.

“Never,” Jim and McCoy answered simultaneously.

Mr. Scott and Ensign Chekov nodded, pondering the drinks in front of them.

Chekov sighed sadly.  “I wonder if Mr. Spock knew.”

McCoy frowned.  “Probably kinder that he didn’t.”

Jim turned to Spock, his eyes sad but earnest. “I wanted to tell you,” he said softly. “I tried, but…”

“I knew,” Spock replied, the regret still raw. “I know.”

Jim took a deep breath, and turned to stand in front of Spock. “I know what I wanted when I died, what I wanted to tell you.”

There was a part, the logical part that feared the consequence of knowledge that wanted to beg Jim to not say it aloud, to keep that which had gone unsaid for so long unspoken still.  But Jim was in front of him, as living and breathing as Spock would see again, and was in no position to bar Jim from anything the man wanted.

“I know I said I was okay with being dead, but it’s not true. I went into the warp core to save you, but I didn’t want to die,” tears started to fall down Jim’s cheeks. “I can’t believe I can feel this alive and this can’t be real.  This is real Spock.”  Spock nodded, which only made Jim’s tears fall faster.  “I think I get a chance to get what I wanted, before I died.  And I wanted to tell you I loved you.”

Spock could feel Jim’s breath against his face, see the blood pulsing just below the skin, healthy and vital.  Jim’s pupils were blown wide, a ring of startlingly bright blue that Spock never accurately recalled.

“Please,” Jim whispered.  “There has to be a reason why I’m back.  You have to find out why.”

For the briefest of moments, Spock felt warm lips beneath his own, and then the world spun and there was nothing.

 

**Stave Four: Kirk of Christmas Future**

 

“Jim?” Spock called.  He could see nothing, and held out his hands, finding nothing. Three slow steps forward and his fingertips brushed against something cold and hard, like glass. Glass gave way to metal, and corners, like a large case or a mechanical unit.

“Jim?” he called out again.  The dull hum and cavernous echoes answered.  Spock’s continued to trace the glass and metal case, when his fingers touched a control panel and blue light began glowing from within the case.

It was Khan.

Spock took a step back, observed the frozen man, held within his cryotube.  The faint glow emanating from Khan’s unit lit upon rows of others, which flickered on until, like dominoes, rows and rows of sleeping beings flooded the room. Spock took another step back, then another, until he backed into a single unit, stored apart from the rest.

Spock turned, and forgot how to breathe.

“Jim,” he chocked and his knees buckled.  He collapsed upon the man-sized tube, fingers pressed against the glass when suddenly the hangar door opened.

“Oi!” a man with a clipboard shouted from the door. “What’s this one for, then?”

“The shuttle bay,” a woman called out, operating a forklift. “Order from Starfleet they want two of the popsicles tomorrow.”  Spock watched in horror as Jim was clumsily lifted into the air and carted away to the back of the hangar, and tried to jog along side to keep up with the cryotube.

“James Tiberius Kirk,” the man read aloud. “Any others?”

“Yeah, Lucille Harewood.”

The man took a moment, scanning his digital clipboard. “You sure?” he shouted at the retreating forklift.  “Ain’t anyone by that name here.”

“That’s what the memo said,” the woman called back. “Starfleet medical wanted Lucy Harewood and J.T. Kirk shipped immediately to Toronto, to arrive by the first of the year.”

“I said, ain’t a Lucille or Lucy or anyone with a name that starts with an L in this popsicle stand.”

“Oh, you aren’t even looking right,” the woman said, slamming on the forklift breaks.  In one terrifying moment the cryotube rocked back and forth.  Spock stood, helpless, as it toppled to the ground, landing on a corner and split open.

The forklift operator swore, and raced to the front, where Spock was already kneeling, trying to move the debris out of the way to get to Jim, but was unable to move anything, the metal and glass pieces slipping through his hands.  “Oh, god, no.” She pressed her comm badge “I’ve got a possible medical emergency in Hangar Bay Four, one human out of stasis, I need a team immediately.”  An alarm immediately sounded.

“Jim,” Spock whispered.  “Please, do not… do not…” He was uncertain what he was begging for, or to whom he was addressing his pleas, but the feeling of dread only increased as the woman pulled the largest piece of metal and exposed Jim, laying face first into the ground.

“Jim,” he cried, reaching straight through the woman his fingers closing around his neck, and the feel of surprisingly warm flesh was the last thing he knew.

 

**Stave Five: Spock and Kirk Together**

 

Spock bolted awake, disoriented by the sound of the facility sirens. A moment later, he realized it was not the emergency alarm from Hangar Bay Four, but the sound of the comm system hailing him.  He was in his apartment, alone, and had fallen asleep at his workstation.  He glanced at the video comm, and upon seeing the name on the screen, answered it.

“Spock, where have you been?  I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”

“Doctor,” he croaked.  “What day is it?”

McCoy glowered.  “You mean your Vulcan hoodoo voodoo can’t tell you?  It’s December 25th, what we Terrans like to call Christmas Day.”

Spock blinked.  “Then it is not too late?”

“Not too late for what?”

Spock looked around his room, certain he would find some trace, some indication of the hallucination that he had endured. Jim, still in a cryotube in a hangar bay, wasn’t due to be shipped to Toronto until six days from today. Perhaps Jim wasn’t dead after all, perhaps he was merely in stasis, and he could intervene in that accident, if what he saw was to be believed.

And he did believe.  Beyond simple miracles, he believed in Jim Kirk.

“Doctor, if I may trouble you for some of your time, I must consult with you.”

McCoy shook his head.  “Spock, look, the reason I called…”

“If this is about your Christmas dinner, I can assure you—”

 “That’s not it, Spock. You need to see this for yourself, right away.”

Spock was hesitant.  He needed to act quickly; any delay seemed contrary to the revelation he had experienced.  He felt as if the entire world had been shaken.  “What is it that I must see?”

“It’s about Jim.”

\--

Dr. McCoy used phrases that included “highly classified” “spontaneous regeneration following null brain function” and “don’t narc on me to the Tribble Rights Coalition.”

“It killed me not to tell you, you got to believe it, but not everything I’m doing here is strictly on the up and up, you understand? And I didn’t think we had even a chance until yesterday,” Dr. McCoy explained finally, walking him down a secure hallway in the bowels of a Starfleet facility.  It was not lost on Spock that this was probably similar to the location Khan Noonien Singh was held.

“What happened yesterday?” Spock asked, confronted with yet another high security door.  McCoy keyed them in, and they were in a lab that was covered in dead tribbles in glass jars.

“Yesterday, we found this,” McCoy explained, picking up a vial labeled _Lucy 1_. “A little girl in London made a complete recovery from sixth stage Sauk’s disease, completely incurable. No one is officially sure how it happened, but when her case came up flagged in the system, well, I got a sample and ran some scans.  I’m positive. Lucy Harewood, the daughter of Thomas Harewood, the suspected terrorist in the London bombing last month, is the first known modern recipient of Khan’s blood.”

 _Lucy_.

“I see now how Khan had to backward engineer the DNA sequences for the general Human population.  Straight DNA worked on tribbles for a while, but this is much more promising. I was able to synthesize some, and I just need to know it will work on these genetically modified tribbles.”

“It will work,” Spock said.  “Get the captain’s cryotube here immediately.”  Spock paused.  “On second thought, I will retrieve it myself.  Perhaps I can put in an emergency request to have him beamed here directly.”

“Hold on, Spock,” the doctor objected. “I have to run trials, make sure that it works.  I can’t go sticking my first attempt into an actual patient.  We don’t know what it could do to him.”

“Doctor.”  Spock grabbed McCoy’s shoulders, startling the man into silence.  “It will work.  Lucy’s blood will work.”

McCoy frowned.  “How the devil do you know?”

“I have faith.”

“Well,” McCoy grumbled.  “It’s a damn Christmas miracle.”

\--

Within two hours, and with Nyota’s unquestioning assistance, Spock had arranged an emergency transport of cyrotube 4850-245 James Tiberius Kirk into a secure wing of Toronto’s Starfleet medical facility. McCoy still grumbled, but as his patient was already dead, his records already retired from the database, and his cure was derived from blood that he didn’t officially have, there was little paperwork and no superior officer to report to.

“This is ridiculous and if it was anyone other than Jim, I’d tell you to go straight to hell,” the doctor said for the fifth time. “I hope Uhura realizes that if this fails, we all loose our jobs and we’ll rot in some Tellerite prison camp.”

“Acknowledged.  But, if we succeed, as I am certain we will, I have no doubt this will be overlooked by a beleaguered Starfleet admiralty trying to avoid more bad press.”

“Spock, you are a ray of sunshine.”

Upon the completion of the transfusion, McCoy and Spock stood, waiting for any change, the scanners reading null after null biological activity.

Spock felt the barest glimmer of an additional mental presence before McCoy’s hushed whisper of “my God, it’s working.”

Spock eyes were drawn to the first spike in neural activity. There was another, then another. A flurry of activity ensued as McCoy rushed around, pulling up charts and sending stimulants into Jim’s system to encourage a heartbeat.  Again and again the scanners showed new signs of activity and all Spock could do was stand back and watch as Jim came back to life.

“Heart rate is stable, nervous system operating within normal limits, endocrine system good.  Respiratory system is working independently.  Dammit, Jim, come on.  You can do it.”

And he did.  In a gasp of air, Jim jerked away and opened his eyes, blinking unseeingly around the room.

In full bedside manner, McCoy stepped up, ready with a retinal and neuro scan.  “Oh, don’t be so melodramatic.  You were barely dead,” he lied smoothly.  Spock was grateful for the deception.  Perhaps McCoy should write this report.  “It was the transfusion that really took its toll.  You were in a coma a for two weeks.”

“Transfusion?” Jim gasped, still blinking widely as a newborn.

“Your cells were heavily irradiated.”  McCoy looked pointedly at Spock.  “We had no choice.”

“Khan?”

“I was able to synthesize a serum from his superblood. Tell me, are you feeling homicidal, power-mad, despotic?”

Jim smirked.  “No more than usual.”  Jim looked concerned. “How’d you catch him?”

McCoy stepped back.  “I didn’t.”

For the first time, Spock could not accurately quantify the amount of time that had passed since Jim and he had looked upon each other. It felt as if moments and years had passed. He stepped toward Jim, afraid that if he touched the man, Jim would disappear beneath his fingers or he would be transported once again to another time.  He smiled warmly, knowingly.

“You saved my life,” he murmured.

“Uhura and I had something to do with it, too, you know,” McCoy interrupted.  Jim merely raised an amused eyebrow and turned back to Spock.

“You saved my life, Captain,” Spock objected, “and the lives of the—”

“Spock, just… Thank you.”

“No thanks are necessary,” Spock echoed, making Jim smile wider. “Not from you.” Spock took a step closer, and Jim reached out and caught Spock’s hand in his own and they looked down at their clasped hands in wonder. 

Jim tugged him a little closer so he could whisper in Spock’s hear. “Are you sure you aren’t hallucinating?” Jim tiled his face up and pecked Spock on the chin.

“I could not have hallucinated this,” Spock replied, returning the kiss more fully, enjoying the pressure and warmth of the man’s lips.

“Holy hell,” McCoy drawled from his place at the foot of Jim’s hospital bed, and the pair broke apart.  McCoy met Spock’s glare with his own look of incredulity.

Jim snorted.  “Admit it, you saw this coming.”  Spock allowed himself to be maneuvered onto the edge of the bed, and wrapped his arm around Jim, content to have the man tucked under his arm.

McCoy mouth dropped open, eyes wide with shock. “When—how—”  Jim just chuckled, and leaned back into Spock, closing his eyes against the hospital lighting.

“We have rendered the doctor speechless.  I believe it qualifies as another Christmas miracle,” Spock noted dryly.

McCoy finally found his voice.

“Bah, humbug.”

 

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to rowe (my poor beleaguered DH) for the beta, and thank you to the K/S Advent crew for organizing this! And thank you, dear readers, for reading and keeping the Spirk spirit in your heart the whole year long.


End file.
